With a shrill shriek of tearing fibres, rock'd
The half-hewn tree above his fated head;
And, tott'ring, asked the sudden blast, "Which way?"
And, answ'ring its windy arms, crash'd and broke
Thro' other lacing boughs, with one loud roar
Of woody thunder; all its pointed boughs
Pierc'd the deep snow--its round and mighty corpse,
Bark-flay'd and shudd'ring, quiver'd into death.
And Max--as some frail, wither'd reed, the sharp
And piercing branches caught at him,
As hands in a death-throe, and beat him to the earth--
And the dead tree upon its slayer lay.
"Yet hear we much of Gods;--if such there be,
"They play at games of chance with thunderbolts,"
Said Alfred, "else on me this doom had come.
"This seals my faith in deep and dark unfaith!
"Now Katie, are you mine, for Max is dead--
"Or will be soon, imprison'd by those boughs,
"Wounded and torn, sooth'd by the deadly palms
"Of the white, trait'rous frost; and buried then
"Under the snows that fill those vast, grey clouds,
"Low-sweeping on the fretted forest roof.
"And Katie shall believe you false--not dead;
"False, false!--And I? O, she shall find me true--
"True as a fabl'd devil to the soul
"He longs for with the heat of all hell's fires.
"These myths serve well for simile, I see.
"And yet--Down, Pity! knock not at my breast,
"Nor grope about for that dull stone my heart;
"I'll stone thee with it, Pity! Get thee hence,
"Pity, I'll strangle thee with naked hands;
"For thou dost bear upon thy downy breast
"Remorse, shap'd like a serpent, and her fangs
"Might dart at me and pierce my marrow thro'.
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